Some Lucky Man
by Something Tangled
Summary: I'm getting slightly possessive. The Midwinter Ball after the events of Carthak and one thoughtful Black Robe mage. Implied NumairDaine, oneshot.


**Summary: **The Midwinter dance after the events of Carthak and one thoughtful Black Robe Mage.

**Ship:** Implied Numair/Daine

**Rating:** PG

**Disclaimer: **Numair, Daine, and all things relating to them belong solely to Tamora Pierce.

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_- Some Lucky Man -_

**by**** sunshine discord**

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_He watches her. _

He always does. It was turning into quite a bad habit.

He watches her as she's picking up the pieces of her past, fitting them together to form the puzzle of the life she wants. The things she desires. Sixteen years of age brought her newfound womanhood, portrayed her in a different light. Tortall had changed her from a shy country-bred girl who'd been abused and by society to a young woman flaming with raw magic that she had tamed.

Magic? He'd helped her get that. Mastered the wildness inside her soul and turned it into something of a savior that restored the bonds between animals and humanity. Saved the kingdom from getting pounded into the dirt by the most powerful army in the world. Threw a monster off his throne. Saved the lives of many.

_He watches her. _

She's laughing alongside her two rider friends Evin and Miri. Her laughter is infectious to him, making his heart flutter and his stomach knot all at the same time. He shouldn't have thoughts like this, he knows. Fourteen years was too much of an age gap for anyone's liking. Even hers.

The Lioness pats his shoulder sympathetically before walking away to go socialize. She knows. Anyone who knew him well enough did. It did not take saying so to diagnose the situation. It was the wistful looks, the sparkle in the shadowy eyes, the smile that showed unbidden affection and respect. It was the frantic tempo of his heart when she's taken captive (there's always someone stealing her away to start trouble).

It's love. It's not a hunger for a one night affair, but the simply complex longing to brush her cheek, to hold her just once. Once! It was all he was asking for. Once when they weren't under the eyes of his old friend and teacher, a pack of hyenas, and the next in line for the Carthaki throne. A chance to be alone with her, a chance for her to be his and his _only_.

_He blinks._

I'm getting slightly possessive, he thinks bleakly. She's his student. His friend. Ally. Fellow traveler. It doesn't make her his property, but he wants her to be—_needs_ her to be.

He can't go on like this, watching young men flirt with her and _sometimes watching her like it_. Of course she would—most females her age did, and although Veralidaine Sarrasri did not always appreciate her pursuers' affection, there were moments when she honestly didn't mind.

_But she didn't crave it._ She didn't throw herself out to anyone. She was modest, innocent, simply there, riding along the tides of life just because she wanted to. Casual. Cool. Collected. She lived it as low key as a person who'd blown up castles, healed dragons, guarded dragons, spoke with animals, spoke with animal gods, and were occasionally gifted (in this case, cursed) by Goddesses who wished to pass some of their divine magic to her possibly could. "Sitting down and watching the world go by is fair relaxing," she'd told him once, "You ought to try it, Numair." It was not, and would not ever be possible to watch the world go by when every second he closed his eyes he swore he saw her face, perfect in every aspect, smiling that smile and blinking those long lashes—

She realizes he's watching her. Or not watching, but simply looking, because she wouldn't know she'd been plaguing his mind with thought of her stormy grey blue eyes and her pale skin. She slips away from her Rider friends for what he hopes (and doesn't hope, he's so mixed up) is just a second. And—Mithros bless him—she's walking towards him, emerald skirts sighing. She's lovely tonight, more so than she usually is, wearing an emerald shoulderless gown with grey and silver sparkling swirls of embroidery and layered skirts. Her large rings of wavy curls are pulled out of her face by diamond clips, cascading freely more than halfway down her back.

And when she reaches him, she smiles that smile (the one that makes his eyes come alight) and stands no less than two feet away from him so she can see him clearly—he's very tall.

"Numair, hello! I didn't think you'd be here." _If you're here, then I'm likely to be here_, he thinks to himself as he beams down at her.

"And why wouldn't I be?" He keeps his voice pleasant, clear, and completely covering his thoughts.

Daine shifts her weight onto one foot, crossing her sleeved arms over her chest casually and smiling at him. "You hate social events."

"It's Midwinter, Magelet. In case you haven't noticed," he teases, and daringly tweaks her nose. She laughs a little. It's these things that make his day complete.

"I noticed," she states flatly, but she's still smiling. With a heavy breath, she pulls a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Haven't seen you much lately."

"I've been in town. Present shopping, the like. I'm very, _very_ popular, Magelet. Places to go, people to see. Gracing my friends down in town with my presence, you know."

"Blowing up more kitchens, turning more people into trees, getting copies of yourself executed—"some odd emotion flickers through her eyes at that, but he barely catches it "—raiding people supplies for your experiments, having townspeople accuse you of being slightly crazy—"

"Stop, stop! You win, already!" He puts his arms up in defeat and shakes his head. She knows him too well and uses it to her advantage. Sometimes he wishes he never told her all those tales of his adventures in the Tortallan castle, but it would take the fun out of life. She made life fun, interesting—worrisome, with all the trouble she got in and chances she so often took. He adored her for that.

"It's true, though," she protests, eyes twinkling. She's about to say something else, but King Jonathan raises his arms and nods the people, and then the symphony of string instruments and a piano strikes up a melody. Dinner was officially over, leaving the guests to socialize or dance. He'd lose her here; he was sure, as the eyes of the younger men in the ballroom were mostly fixed on her. She doesn't notice, instead is watching the people out of the floor as they twirl one another.

He sighs quietly. Without him processing it, his mouth takes on a mind of its own. "Would you like to dance, Daine?"

His real mind goes numb, and for a second he doesn't dare breath. She looks at him, smiles calmly, and offers her dainty hand. Having second thoughts, he forces himself to finish what he starts and takes her hand—Mithros, it fit so well in his. Perfectly, very warm, and it feels so right because it's just so wrong.

And the people that notice, the boys that wanted to be dancing with her or the court ladies that wanted his attention, they glare. As expected.

But in the eyes of those who simply passed it off, it was a simple Midwinter dance between teacher and student, mage and magelet. And while his heart pounded a frantic waltz of it's own inside his chest, he came to the realization that this would probably be his last dance with his Daine for the rest of his life. Next Midwinter, she would probably be officially courted by some lucky man.

Unbeknownst to him, he would prove to be right.

Luckily.

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**Author's Note: **_My first Tamora Pierce work. Love it? Hate it? Review, please. I need feedback, and constructive criticism is very welcomed. Tell me if I should do more—I'm writing on this site to keep my skills intact, since the muses for my own story that one day I hope to publish have taken a very long vacation… Anyways. I like writing from Numair's point of view. It's fun. There's so much to work with, and I'm a rabid Numair lover, so eh._


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